


They Ways of Love Made Clear

by BreathingSpace



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreathingSpace/pseuds/BreathingSpace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p><3</p></blockquote>





	They Ways of Love Made Clear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phantomreviewer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomreviewer/gifts).



“There’s no need to look so grumpy!”

“I’m not looking grumpy” said Enjolras, muffled by his scarf. “I’m just cold.”

“Why are you cold? It’s not gone below freezing all month. It’s like singing Christmas songs in fucking July.”

Enjolras glared petulantly over his scarf barrier. “Well _I_ find it cold.”

“You can do your best but you literally never will look menacing dressed like that.”

He plucked at the rim of his jumper. It was nylon and already beginning to lose its shape, stretched out at the bottom and over the battery packs in the shoulder. There were strings of internal thread already starting to come loose. He frowned at one of them.

“If you’re that cold, you could always do your coat up.”

Enjolras shifted from one foot to the other and broke eye contact with the thread. “No, I’m okay. What’s that over there?”

“That’s the crowd for the tree lighting.”

“It’s not very big.”

“Well, the tree’s not very good.” Grantaire fished around in his coat, pulled something out of his pocket and took a long drag on the end. “The tree itself is okay I suppose, but the lights are going to go on every evening from now until Christmas so there’s not that much point. They have a choir and that but you can never hear them.” He offered the end of his vape to Enjolras. “Fancy some?”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose.

“Come on, you can’t be grumpy about giving up your Communist cigarettes forever. Look, I’ll buy you one if you like. For Christmas.”

“You’ve already done enough for Christmas” said Enjolras, picking at the edge of his jumper again.

“Leave it alone, you’re pulling it out of shape.”

“It’s already out of shape!”

“No thanks to you. Look, I’ve had mine for years and it’s still as jumpery as the day it was born.”

“It’s a fleece, Grantaire.”

“And?”

Fleeces aren’t very Christmassy at all.”

“Aye, maybe not where you’re from. They’re both festive and practical. Best at keeping the blood in when you get stabbed.”

Enjolras chuckled and wrinkled his nose. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious, you soft Southern pansy! Violence goes up a lot at this time of year. Christmas crime. Riots in Argos, and-”

“Okay, okay I get it.” Enjolras said, laughing. “Your fleece is practical in a multitude of ways.”

“And pretty.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Yes you would. Praise it, Enjolras.”

“No.”

“Praise the fleece.”

“No!!” He laughed again and Grantaire took hold of his arm and swung him round to face him.

“You’re making life very hard for me.”

“Shutting me up wouldn’t be that hard, you’re about a foot taller”

Grantaire sized him up. “There’s no way it’s a foot.”

“A healthy amount.”

“An amount.”

Their eyes met.

“… what did you bring me here to see?” said Enjolras.

“Of course,” said Grantaire, making what seemed to be a transparent show of surprise. “Come with me.”

He took Enjolras’s sleeve and walked off, guiding him through the thinly huddled crowd. There was the oddly spaced policeman, one or two clumps of students looking forlornly on towards the still-dark gallery. Grantaire led him past them all.

“What’s here that I haven’t already seen?”

“I hope you haven’t already seen this,” said Grantaire, “It’s the highlight of my year.”

“Grantaire-”

“Look.” Grantaire stopped just as suddenly as he’d started. “Here he is.”

“He?”

“Joseph,” said Grantaire, solemnly, “meet Enjolras. Enjolras, meet Sultry Joseph.”

Enjolras followed his gaze. They were stood outside a generic Nativity scene, a glass cased shed housed some racially ambiguous characters and gratuitous animals, all gathered around a manger and a man strategically draped in front of it.

“Is that-”

“Father of our immortal saviour? Yes it is.”

“Why is he-”

“Sexy?”

Enjolras looked again. The figure gazed outwards in a disturbingly direct way, his head propped up by a hand. Enjolras didn’t think it was entirely Biblical. He gave it a hard stare.

“Don’t look too close, you could go mad.”

“Has Sultry Joseph ever done that to anyone?”

Grantaire, who was still holding on to his sleeve, wheeled him round to face him again. “How do you think Mary got pregnant?”

Enjolras gave him a wry smile. His eyes were very close. He probably wasn’t quite a foot taller than him after all. In an effort to gauge this, Enjolras didn’t realise exactly how far he’d been leaning in. He was close enough to count each individual eyelash if he wanted. He felt awkward. He went to move away.

“No, don’t feel you have to do that,” Grantaire said, as the lights sprang on behind him. Enjolras relaxed.

Grantaire’s face came closer. If they’d been close before, they were touching distance now. Warmth sharing distance. Enjolras could almost… smell him.

Grantaire’s hand slid further up his arm, and a tinny polyphony sprung out from under Enjolras’s jumper.

“Oh, Christ!” he leapt away, smoothing his sleeve down frantically. “How do I shut it off?”

“I don’t know,” said Grantaire through laughter. “You wait for it to have its fill, I suppose.”

“I don’t want to wait for it to have its fill!”

“Then why did you wear it?”

Enjolras went red.

Grantaire met his gaze for a second, changed his face without dropping his eyes. “Come on, I’ll buy you a hot chocolate.”

“You’ve already bought me a jumper that sings.”

“This won’t.”

“I’m not that fond of them?”

“Because you’re not a child?” Trust me, you haven’t had the one I’m thinking of yet.”

“You’re very confident you know me well.”

Grantaire winked at him. “I feel I do well enough, by now.”

“I thought you thought I was an ice prince.”

“Well,” Grantaire smiled again, faced him again, left his hands in his pocket. “You know what a very wise man once said. This is the summer of the soul in December.”

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
